


Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy

by MissKiraBlue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bilingual Character(s), Coincidences, Consequences, Draco Malfoy-centric, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Fate & Destiny, Felix Felicis, Female Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Liquid Luck, Literature, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Metaphors, Music, Mystery, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, POV Third Person, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Present Tense, Psychological Trauma, Scarred Draco Malfoy, Scars, Slow Burn, Travel, luck potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKiraBlue/pseuds/MissKiraBlue
Summary: On the 29th of July, Narcissa Malfoy gives her son a Felix Felicis potion. That's how everything changes. But we don't know that yet. Now it's still the 2nd of May, the end of the war.Draco is a soldier, walking in a peaceful world, wondering if there is something more to life.And he is about to find out.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Adrian Pucey, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, Millicent Bulstrode/Gregory Goyle, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, past Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 50
Kudos: 100
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs





	1. Scene I: 1.4 Sarabande by Johann Sebastian Bach (arr. Peter Gregson)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleventy7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleventy7/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Running on Air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171550) by [eleventy7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleventy7/pseuds/eleventy7). 



> Hello my adorable–evils!! I KNOW YA'LL MUST BE SURPRISED!! HOW ARE YOU?? HOW'S LIFE? ALSO PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES!! THEY HAVE SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATIONS!!
> 
> U P D A T E A N D A P O L O G Y N O T E:
> 
> At first I want to apologize for being gone like a half year (and a year) but I was working on this and also betaing for other people, and there's school too so xdddd it was a lot of things!! But I'm fine!! Some of you wrote to me, all worried about me being gone, but everything is okay. Love you!!
> 
> To old readers: Every Tomorrows won't be updated until 2021 Summer!! I have to finish this story and the last part of 'In Nature is a Tyranny' Until then enjoy these two HP series :D you guys can wait a little. The INIAT readers have been waiting since forever. And my schedule has always been planned like this: stop almost midway in every tomorrows part 5, and then write LFDdDLM and finish INIAT!
> 
> To new readers: Welcome here and welcome to the family I sincerely hope everyone will like this story. It will be updated on every Saturday/Sunday :D
> 
> A B O U T T H I S S T O R Y:
> 
> This story was made for purely beating eleventy7's running on air fanfic. I love that story and I love that author but she has been on that throne for far too long. It was made for making this the new 'running on air' the queen of Drarry fanfics. But then as I went deeper into writing this, I realized this has grown into something really special. All I can say, that this is the work of my life and I hope you guys will enjoy it. It was inspired by a lot of movies, a lot of songs, and a lot of books. 
> 
> But I can promise that it's nothing you guys have ever read before.
> 
> A D D I T I O N S:
> 
> Here's the playlist for it. Every chapter has its own song, I recommend listening to it while reading: 
> 
> Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ae6LDeYtF2ptNuRPMtloO?si=2wedCyyBSWCoxGOmoQu38A)
> 
> I will link every character how I imagine them looking like, as we go deeper in the story:
> 
> This is how I imagine Draco in the story:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/26/61/af/2661af345db3c29e24433671d4cca437.jpg)  
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b2/69/9e/b2699e2ac18d53ab1969a3b0fa584c58.jpg)  
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9b/86/2f/9b862f6f9d640e35373943ddb5dbf863.jpg)
> 
> PS: It is advised to always look at the dates in the story, on the right side. :))
> 
> T H A N K S:
> 
> Shoutout to people who helped me/ are continuing to help me with this story:
> 
> Thank you for my dear friend Kochimv, who's helping me with the French in this story, I love you so much!! She's an amazing author, check out her works as well if you love Bts!
> 
> Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kochimv/pseuds/kochimv)
> 
> Thank you for my beta and my dear friend Ishika, who loves this as much as I do. This is her page, she's an amazing beta and writer as well! Some of you may know her from our work called "Don't Just Lie and Say It's Fine" because we're writing that together, but she has her own amazing writing bits as well!:
> 
> Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_inner_darkness/pseuds/the_inner_darkness)
> 
> Thank you for the other two talented authors and my friends who listened to me scream about this idea and helped me form it, reading little parts of it!:
> 
> Bi_Bat: Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_Bat/pseuds/Bi_Bat) thank you for giving me pictures about places I've never been to, I love you.
> 
> and
> 
> misakikinomoto: Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misakikinomoto/pseuds/misakikinomoto) thank you for saying it is already better than running on air. I love you so so much.
> 
> You guys are the absolute best!! Thank you for always helping me and hearing me out whenever I have a blast!! Check out their works!! They are amazingly talented - check out their works if you like Haikyuu!!

**Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy**

**ACT I**

**Je cherche quelque chose mais je ne sais pas ce que c’est**

**_Scene I_ **

**_1.4 Sarabande by Johann Sebastian Bach (arr. Peter Gregson)_ **

_“The house is now quiet, and the sun is high up.”_

_– Draco Lucius Malfoy_

2 May, 1998

There is an absence in endings.

You’re waiting for something.

You’re waiting for the claps when the curtain goes down, you’re waiting for the whistles of people as they’re standing up from their seats, you’re waiting for the lights to be on.

There is something you’re waiting for when everything ends.

But when Draco is kneeling close on the ruins of the bridge of Hogwarts, bruised and aching, he has no idea what he’s waiting for.

Everyone else is inside, gathered together because it is over. They have won, it is over. They can celebrate, renovate, grieve and meet their loved ones again. They are in there with warmth and peace.

Draco just keeps staring at the sun, out in the open, his arms comfortably resting on his knees as he breathes.

For that short time, everything that he is, everything that is around him is completely gone.

For that short time he doesn’t see Vincent burning. For that short time he doesn’t hear anybody’s screams. For that short time he doesn’t remember his parents’ future. For that short time he doesn’t feel the pain in his scars.

For that short time he isn’t scared.

This once, Draco wants something in his life but he holds himself back. Instead, he stares into the sun, at the light blue sky, perfectly still and tries to hold time like a breath in his chest. As if he can keep the clock from ticking forward.

It’s only a minute late and Draco still thinks,

_How did it get so late so soon?_

That short time ends.

It ends right away when he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders saying, it’s time to go.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––**

After they get home, he walks to the bathroom to wash his hands and Draco sees somebody else in the mirror.

The person looks young and old at the same time, he has the gaze of someone who tries to forget how it feels to have everything in reach, and waits for an ending like a long forgotten yesterday.

Long, visible scars cover Draco’s face from the shards of crystal of the chandelier when it has crashed down in the Manor. One long along his left eye, a smaller from his left cheek down to his jawline, and one long across the right side of his lip.

_“He took the wands,” Mother whimpered, cradling Draco’s face, blood everywhere. She was shivering, crying. “I can’t heal you in time, I can’t.”_

Draco glances down at his arm, the black mark like a grim looking back at him. A patch of ink, never dries, never vanishes, never becomes white.

He turns on his heel without saying goodbye to the person in the mirror.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

The sun is high up when all of them sit down to talk.

Before he does that, he lets the light inside of the living room by pulling the curtains apart. The sharp sound makes him wince as he gently lets it go, and walks back to sit next to his mother. He sits close to the window, close to the world.

He doesn’t stare this time.

“There’s no outcome which is beneficial, however I look at it,” Father begins slowly, holding a cup of tea in his hand, looking down at it devoid of emotion. “For me anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” Mother says, her voice loud and her eyes glowing with rage. More soul, more heart.

It’s as if she’s got all the things his father has been missing.

“You know this, Narcissa,” Father continues, still not looking up. “We’ve known it from the beginning. You weren’t involved as deeply as I was and Draco is a mystery, they don’t have anything crucial on him. They know nothing about him and that’s how it should be.”

This time Mother goes quiet. Only for a minute. Only for an eternity.

“You can’t go to Azkaban,” she whispers. “They can’t do that.”

“They can do whatever they please.”

“I won’t let them take you.”

“It will be fine.”

“You will die in there.”

Father, this time, looks up and it’s like the sun. It’s like the absence in an ending. Mother understands as she stops breathing and a tear escapes from her eye. Father doesn’t tell her more, instead he turns to Draco.

Draco has no idea what he’s waiting for.

An apology? A goodbye? An explanation? A promise? A plan? Help? Honesty? Another lie?

Instead, Father says, “I love you,” and there is no lie in his eyes. As if he has never known the taste of it on his tongue.

Draco wonders if this is what it takes. If the dead and the snow of grief is all that takes Father to have finally become human. Maybe the mournful tomorrow steals the eyes of a hopeful man.

Draco will never know. He only knows one thing for the time being.

It might be their last conversation.

So after all the suffocating, enormous, leering world of his Father weighing his shoulder, he realizes this all will end soon but Draco can’t bring himself to smile.

He wants to say, you made me endure all of this for nothing.

He wants to say, you were the reason I did what I had done.

He wants to say, I hate you.

And although Draco has carved skin with a black tainted arm, his heart is still as soft and fresh as the dawn of a new today.

So he says, “I love you, too,” and there is no lie in his eyes. Father looks in pain, hearing Draco’s words, but also content.

As if these words are the ones he wants to hear last.

Draco remembers, and life comes to him in a kaleidoscope of memories.

Father hates being on time, because he hates when people tell him when he should arrive. He hates his tea if it’s cold, and he hates birds because they fly away, somewhere far away, and he can’t see them anymore.

Father loves when mother smiles. He loves when Draco makes a good joke, and he loves the smell of new, and old books.

The childhood of Draco embraces him and in the next minute, he can’t even react to what is happening. The sun is still high up as the Aurors destroy their home and arrest Father. His mother stands her ground, without an emotion painting on her face, tears now dry. Draco is holding her shaking hand, staring at Father as they take him away. He looks cold as they escort him to captivity but when Father’s eyes meet Mother’s, his gaze turns into freedom.

The house is now quiet, and the sun is high up, and Draco thinks about how most people have the best day of their life today.

**–––––––––––––––––––**

3 May, 1998

It’s on the next day when they get the letter. Father will be sent to Azkaban and perhaps it’s still better than to be executed. Mother thinks so, anyway. His trial will be held next week and until then, he is locked away from the outside world.

Draco is sure his father will be there for a lifetime.

The thing about death, Draco has learned, is that nothing is permanent. Is death permanent? Some might agree, that it is. Draco doesn’t see it that way. Not anymore.

The thing about death is that there are several ways to die when you are alive and only one way to die when you are no longer alive anymore.

Even if you are not of this world anymore, you’re alive in the memories of the ones who have known you. In this case, no one ever really dies. Not truly.

Draco is standing outside in his mother’s garden, surrounded by roses, sunflowers and violets. He’s touching them lightly, the petals fall into the white skin of his hand. He looks to the left, seeing his mother lightly sleeping in a comfortable chair. Draco walks to her and takes the dark yellow duvet lying on her legs to pull it up to her chin. Her light breathing has an old rhythm which he knows well, and a certain calmness of it makes him smile. It vanishes in the next minute as Draco blinks slowly and then looks back to the fair flowers.

He wonders if he will ever truly die.

He wonders if there is someone who will remember him.

**––––––––––––––––**

Mother can’t bring herself to go inside her and Father’s room. Instead, she sleeps in one of the guests rooms. Draco had wanted to offer his own bedroom but she declined with concern. Draco then had told her he couldn’t sleep.

“Potion? Calming draught?” Mother asks and only that, and nothing else. She knows why he can’t sleep.

She probably can’t either.

One of the nights, Draco is awake in the living room, reading a book about an invisible person, when his mother walks towards him, sits down on an armchair, and choses a book from the pile laying on the floor next to Draco. She reads about trains and new beginnings.

Draco thinks they’re both reading about the things they long for.

**––––––––––––––––––**

6 May, 1998

There are days when Draco thinks everything is okay.

There are days when he can sleep and there are days when he wakes up and doesn’t think for a brief time that he’s somewhere else. There are days when he never looks into a mirror, when he never stares down on his arm.

There are days when his mother smiles all day, when she waters the garden of flowers with him.

There are days when he gets letters from Pansy, Blaise, Greg and Theo, saying they can’t wait until the house arrest ends, when the decision of their fate is done and they can meet up again.

There are days when he writes the letters to Pansy, Blaise, Grey and Theo and it’s all about talking.

There are days when Draco goes to bed and thinks it’s okay to wake up because nothing bad will happen tomorrow.

But these days are getting rare, like paper in a small book. The more you turn the pages, the less it becomes and in the end you finish the story.

The pages in Draco’s book are rough and dour. The pages in Draco’s book have never been uncountable nor various, just the same yellow, old papers with a number on the corners. The pages have been getting thin.

With that in mind, Draco is awake during midnight and sometimes he’s trying to chase the pages which were torn or caught by the wind to place them back in his book.

But there are things you can’t get back and he knows that too.

**––––––––––––––––––**

8 May, 1998

It’s next week, and it’s Father’s and several other people’s trials. Draco is standing next to Mother, holding her hand but both of them know already what it’s about to come.

“A lifetime,” they announce.

Mother almost falls down, Draco holds her steady as his lungs close off. Even if he has known, it takes away too much from them as it becomes true. Draco’s life has been scattered before but now the pieces are gone as he stares at his father as they begin to take him away. No chance of saying goodbye, no chance of last meetings.

Mother cries for him, she’s not hiding from anyone. She shows people she has a heart – she shows how much it beats for someone like Lucius Malfoy. The people in the crowd are talking, whispering.

Father has tears too, and Draco’s soul thinks they are real and he almost falls down, too. He feels hands on his shoulders, steadying him – Blaise’s. Father says something then, and Draco can’t look away.

There is a little smile on his face. It makes him human. The monster Draco remembers vanishes.

He says something so natural, something so genuine that it stuns everyone in that room.

He says with a little smile, “It’s okay.”

And Draco doesn’t remember when he has cried so much in all his life before.

**––––––––––––––––––––**

The house is quiet yet again and it’s strange to think about how Father has been the one to talk all the time, filling it up with noise.

Draco thinks, there are things you only notice when it’s not there anymore, or rather, when it is too late. As how several children grow up without a father, or losing their father at an earlier age, and they too, will turn out to be fine. There is an oblivion somewhere that can be reachable at a certain point in life, where you can move on.

Draco thinks he won’t ever reach it, that point in life. But if he ever does, he doesn’t want to move on from this. It’s a part of who he is, his father. It’s a part nevertheless if it has been used too many times, if it’s been crushed by things which were heavier than he had ever felt.

It’s something that will never go away and maybe this is okay.

Maybe it’s better to remain than to turn to oblivion.

**–––––––––––––––––––**

14 May, 1998

Breathe and the days are gone in the current week you are. Breathe again and you’re in the next. Breathe again and now you’re at the end of the month.

Your whole life is gone.

Time is a thing which dances around Draco’s fingers like waves of a sea, and the color is a deep unforgettable blue which makes all men drown. Calm, powerful, terrifying.

Time for Mother, is a little sparkle of light like embers from the ashes, cracking around the tips of her fingers. Quick, steady, passionate.

Time for Father is invisible, like air, or more like a fogbound. It is never-ending, unknown and immense.

Time is, as it always has been, different for everyone.

Draco is sitting out on the terrace, looking down, watching his mother water the flowers. It takes him back to the days when he’s eleven, chasing the clouds in the clear sky. Feeling the grass beneath his bare feet, pulling the halm. Sensing the wind ruffling his white hair, seeing the colorful butterflies rest on the leaves of trees.

Draco enjoyed the thought of his mother being a butterfly.

_“You can go anywhere,” Draco told her then. “You can see everything there is.”_

_Mother had a sly smile on her face as she crossed her arms before her chest. The look suited her and it suited her not. It was all her, and it was all Draco at the same time. “What if I only want to see you for the rest of my life?”_

_Draco then pouted. “Isn’t that boring?”_

_Mother laughed and pulled Draco into a hug. “Are you in for a deal?”_

_Draco would never in his life refuse an offer like that. “What’s the deal?”_

_Mother smiled and pressed the bridge of his nose. “If you tend my garden, I will turn into a butterfly.”_

_Eleven year–old Draco was glowing. “Really?” he asked with a big smile. “Promise?”_

_Mother nodded, with her cheeky smile. “Promise, Mon trésor.”_

Draco now understands he has been betrayed and played at – by his own mother of all people – but he still plays with the idea of her being a butterfly. Whenever he sees one, he thinks of her.

Yesterday he is eleven and now he’s seventeen.

Yesterday Voldemort is alive and now he’s dead.

Yesterday his father is in their home and now he’s not.

What a day can do.

Sometimes it does more than a year ever can.

But it is, as it always has been.

Breathe and your whole life is gone.

But sometimes, maybe all it takes, is a little blink.

**––––––––––––––––––––**


	2. Scene II: Blow The Wind Southerly by (arr. Sheku Kanneh-Mason)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils!! Here's the new chapter!! I hope all of you had a wonderful week and life it slowly getting better but if not I send you all luck to all of your people way!!
> 
> This story is taking baby steps but I think no other ever really does that, so I hope this will feel a breath of fresh air.

**ACT I**

**_Scene II_ ** ****

**_Blow The Wind Southerly by (arr. Sheku Kanneh-Mason)_ **

_“They have flown away like Father’s birds, somewhere far and far away where no one can see them anymore.”_

_– Draco Lucius Malfoy_

19 May, 1998

Pansy’s trial is this week and her fate is in the hands of people who have killed as many as she did.

For a better understanding.

None.

Pansy doesn’t have anyone who is alive anymore. No one from her family, to be exact. Her mother was crushed beneath a ruin of Hogwarts and her father was killed by an Auror. Pansy is alone now in the world with no remaining family. An orphan, some might say. A nobody, like everyone else.

A person like you and me, Draco thinks as he’s watching Pansy kneeling in front of the Ministry.

She is not powerful, she does not look fierce nor immortal, neither terrifying or bleak. There’s a grim look in her eyes but you only notice it, if you know her. Draco notices it, and next to it, so does Theo, judging the stiffness in his posture.

Pansy kneels there, looking down at her hands, at its mere white skin. Her black, short hair embraces her and for a moment, she is similar to a child.

She never raises her head.

People read her sins so loud it echoes off the walls. Torture, violence, murder. They sing the lies of the crowd and graze it true.

Theo clenches his fist but Draco brings his own hand to his friend’s, and gently calms him down, but the turmoil for him – inside of him–, is all the same.

Pansy has never killed anybody. She is the only one who has never done a heinous thing in her life.

She would rather ran away and hide, than lay a finger on someone.

But they won’t see that. After all, what they’re looking at is not a child. What they are looking at is nothing.

Nothing at all.

Draco, for a minute imagines, as if they are not here. Moments swim into his mind like the golden flicks of a star.

Pansy hates the way her hair curls up on her nape. She hates Tuesdays, and Pansy hates the idea of running in heels.

Pansy loves dancing late at night with Blaise. She loves when an umbrella has multiple colors or patterns, and she loves to talk with people who live freely.

“No proof for using _Unforgivables,_ ” they say with such a mocking, disgusting voice Draco can’t breathe, “An Auror will be chosen to be with you all day, house arrest will stay as long as we think it’s essential, and prohibition of using magic for at least half a year.”

Theo falls on his knees, and Draco opens his eyes, and there are no stars as Pansy begins to cry.

Some in the crowd points at her, others have a grin plastered on their faces. They’re looking at someone who is not the same as them. What they are looking at is nothing.

Nothing at all.

**––––––––––––––––––––**

Walk with force, Father used to say. But Draco has forgotten how to look ahead and walk forward with purpose a long time ago.

Father is a man who, even as he feels like he’s a nobody, looks like someone. If you’re someone, you can do anything there is to do.

Maybe that is the reason why Draco gives this advice to Pansy for the question as to what she should do after this. They’re sitting in front of the ministry building, on an old bench, while Theo is sitting on the grass a little bit further, in silence, watching the landscape of free people as they talk, walk and exist.

He stares at Pansy. She has pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head on them. The wind dances with her hair, twirls it front to back, back to front. She has a gentle smile, her eyes softly gaze towards ahead.

He is thinking, as he watches her, how little it matters to be hated if one is able to live.

Now that Draco thinks of it, he has never felt guilty about the things he had done and neither did Pansy, Theo, Blaise or Greg. They did what they had to do.

He doesn’t feel regret but he feels lost in more ways he can ever count.

In war, you do things to live and you never look back, and you have blood on your hands and it’s not yours but it is.

But it is.

“I think, eventually, everything will be fine.” Pansy speaks lightly, like the wind which twirls her hair, like the voice of Theo when he’s tired, like the eyes of Blaise when he has read too much, or the sound of the kitchen when Greg is baking.

It brings warmth to Draco, and his heart is full and the sun is high up. But then, it’s only a minute late and he still thinks,

_How did it get so late so soon?_

**––––––––––––––––––––**

22 May, 1998

Everyone is rushing and no one seems to be scared of it. Even time – time is the cruelest thing Draco has ever come face to face with.

He breathes and it is Theo’s trial.

He’s the only one who stands his ground, the only one who looks into the eyes of people who are about to control every little piece of his life.

Theo is tall, and to others right now, he must be the shortest, smallest, most invisible person in the room but to Draco he’s the only thing he can see.

Theo, who only has his father now, who is in Azkaban next to Father. Theo who has never had a mother to begin with and is now left with an ancient house like Pansy.

Theo who gets the same punishment like Pansy with only one exception.

Theo who doesn’t even break, when the crowd says no magic for a year.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––**

“They’re making us be the ones they think we killed,” Theo says leaning on the building, waiting for his own, personally assigned Auror to arrive. He kicks a little rock over the stairs, and watches it skip down to the end.

Draco stares at it until it stops. “I killed some,” he whispers, not looking back.

Theo sighs and just closes his eyes, hands in the pocket of his coat. There’s silence but it’s long, familiar, and comforting.

The thing about being someone is that you have to be seen. The thing about being someone is that you have to stand out and if you do, you can’t turn back from that.

Draco, by Voldemort in that time, had to be seen.

All the things that Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Vincent and Greg have never done, have been the things Draco had to do. He had to demonstrate multiple times that he wore cruelty like a second skin, and he had no heart of a mortal, but more of a monster.

“Nobody knows that,” Theo says quietly and Draco turns his head to look at him.

Theo looks like the same kid who had stolen Draco’s chocolate cake when they were eleven. He has the same eyes, even if they are worn down, even if they are haunted now. He has the same tiny smile, even if it’s not there anymore, even if it might never be there.

“You do,” Draco says then and it feels as if someone else is talking. “All of you do.”

Theo’s eyes are somber and his voice is light as he answers, “We are only alive the way we are because of you, Draco. You’re the only reason we’re here and not in a ditch waiting to die.”

Theo then pushes himself off the wall and points at himself, the anger in that movement alone, causes Draco to take a step back.

And Theo says, “These things we’ve done will fade in time and all of us will live with ourselves until countdown and we will be perfectly fine,” he turns grim. “We will be perfectly fine because you took our burdens and shouldered it by yourself. We will die _healed_ ,” Theo spits the word and he has tears in his eyes and Draco’s throat closes off. “We will die healed and happy because we don’t have as much and as painful to remember as you do, and Draco I don’t have one single day when I’m not thinking about how you will ache all your life because of what you’ve done until you die.”

Theo’s eyes are wide, as if he himself is surprised about what he has said. His chest is heaving and it’s quiet and they’re breathing, and it’s one minute late, but then it’s again one minute late and it becomes so late so soon.

Draco’s heart sinks and he can’t move.

The Auror arrives and Theo has to leave. Before he does, he pulls Draco in a quick, yet strong hug and then goes away. As quickly as time, as unnoticeably as the wind.

Theo’s words echo in Draco’s mind late at night when he’s reading a book about a person who becomes invisible the moment they step out of the house.

**–––––––––––––––––––**

24 May, 1998

Blaise gets the same punishment as Pansy so he breaks the glass of water in his hand after they get home and doesn’t even wince when there’s blood everywhere coming out of his cuts. The water is flowing through his hand, like the chances of the future.

Draco and Greg stand up at the same time but Blaise’s mom is already there. She gently holds Blaise’s bleeding hand and whispers, “ _Episkey,_ ” and everything heals. Blaise sends her a gentle smile, his mom gives one back as she presses a kiss on Blaise’s knuckles.

Nadine, as Draco has always known, has the heart of an endless sky and all of the stars in her sky are Blaise. She is as tall as her son, and as blissful as the first rain in spring and only they know it.

For everyone else, Nadine Zabini is just someone who kills all of her husbands in order to gain their wealth.

And she does.

Nadine does because she wants her sky to remain full of stars and fears of waking up one day, finding there are none left.

Draco, on several occasions by now, has realized how strong parents are.

His own father, but even his mother, perhaps, is the greatest example of all. Lying to Voldemort about Harry Potter’s death in order to ensure his son’s safety. Theo’s father’s desperate attempt to keep him safe during every single fight at Hogwarts. Nadine’s manipulation in order to ensure Blaise’s future whether she will or not be around anymore.

Because they know.

They know the chances of gaining a new future have flown away. They have flown away like Father’s birds, somewhere far and far away where no one can see them anymore. Birds rarely return and even if they do, they might never find their way back home.

They are free, Draco thinks about that quite often, and freedom means home.

Birds travel, they see, they feel and they hear. They are simple, and agile, and elated, and engaging.

They’re memorable.

And yet.

They’re invisible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist: 
> 
> Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ae6LDeYtF2ptNuRPMtloO?si=U1JeEM63R-SFCXSC1Ts8pQ)
> 
> How the characters look like:
> 
> \- Draco:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/26/61/af/2661af345db3c29e24433671d4cca437.jpg)
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b2/69/9e/b2699e2ac18d53ab1969a3b0fa584c58.jpg)
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/9b/86/2f/9b862f6f9d640e35373943ddb5dbf863.jpg)
> 
> \- Pansy:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/65/5f/ed/655fedc2cf226e03cffc1bd858c1b173.jpg)
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6f/b8/08/6fb8088c9da8009d0953adb35be9336e.jpg)
> 
> \- Theodore:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9d/b7/73/9db773b8f8ae337019236cd80c3d4589.jpg)
> 
> \- Blaise:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/63/39/25/6339259742912b519d7f3696abef4143.jpg)
> 
> \- Greg:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/df/01/71/df0171efeda15fbc85513f1c02bb7afa.jpg)
> 
> \- Nadine (Blaise's mom):
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/07/a9/97/07a9978da38303b87c13243d55942df4.jpg)
> 
> \- Narcissa Malfoy (Black):
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/90/cb/5e/90cb5e471fbb60aceca176d1ba888fb8.jpg)


	3. Scene III: Let it be by The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils!! I hope everything is okay with ya'll!! Here's the new chapter :D It's short but everything is outlined so there's a reason for that. I hope you people will enjoy it.

**ACT I**

**Scene III**

**Let it be by The Beatles**

_“So he stands there in the middle of the street at midnight and he breathes.”_

_– Draco Lucius Malfoy_

Draco stares at Blaise as he paces up and down in the room. Greg is holding a glass of firewhisky in his hand, staring ahead into nothing.

Draco uses the silence to his advantage and closes his eyes as he often does nowadays.

Blaise hates the way people say his surname. He hates getting up early in the morning, and he hates when people wear their shoes in their houses.

Blaise loves dancing late at night with Pansy. He loves when someone plays the violin just right, and he loves when he’s the first to say happy birthday to someone he holds dear.

“Theo is right,” Blaise begins to speak. “Their punishment is to make us muggle. Completely human,” he stops for a minute. “Ordinary.”

Greg snorts and it makes Draco open his eyes to look at him. “We’ve never been special, Blaise,” he says in a bitter voice and drinks.

Blaise stops spacing the room and his shoulders sink. It’s as if he’s getting smaller and smaller. Maybe he is.

Maybe they all are.

“I know,” Blaise answers and the lets out a deep sigh, walking towards the window. The dark night sky, the golden lamps of the street, and the reflection of the moon on the river in front of the house. As he’s gazing out, he says, “When did it all go wrong?”

And Draco’s blood runs cold.

_How did it get so late so soon?_

And all the pages from his book are falling out, and the words are flowing down and it’s his book, and it’s his pages and now they’re gone and he has to stand up from the chair and so he does but as he opens the front door he realizes he doesn’t know where to go.

So he stands there in the middle of the street at midnight and he breathes.

He breathes clutching his heart and his eyesight becomes blurry, and he breathes again, and again, and he thinks he feels hands on his shoulders, on his back, steadying him but all he sees is the moon in front of him and it’s already a minute late.

And just like that it’s already a minute late.

**–––––––––––––––––––**

You don’t realize what it means to be ordinary until you know no one will remember you.

People assume a single memory is enough to be remembered. If one person remembers you, that is completely enough. Whether the memory is a pleasant or an awful one. But for Draco, this seems to be not enough.

For Draco, all the little or meaningless memories of other people will dissolve one day. Evaporate as if they have never been there. A memory that has a deep impression is the one that stays.

A memory that changes a person.

Draco doesn’t remember if he has ever made such a vast impression on anyone ever before, let it be good or bad. If he has ever done something that made others change their way of thinking, the way they view certain things.

But everything is about perspective. Maybe from his point of view, he hasn’t done anything remarkable. Maybe from his friends’ he has.

But even if he has changed them – Pansy, Blaise, Theo or Greg or anyone else – after they die, who will remember Draco? After Father dies? After Mother dies?

Who will remember him?

Who will remember any of them? Who will remember Pansy? Blaise? Theo? Greg? Astoria? Daphne? Millicent? Tracey?

Vincent?

After they all die who will remember Vincent Crabbe?

He lies there, awake in his bed and stares into the night and it’s the same year, and it’s the same month, and it’s the same day, and it’s the same city, and it’s the same street, and it’s the same house, and it’s the same room, and it’s already a minute late and then it’s morning.

Now it is morning, the bright sunlight cutting through the curtains and for this once, Draco wants something in his life, but he holds himself back. Instead, he tries to keep time like a breath in his chest.

And he blinks.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––**

27 May, 1998

After his trial, Greg is sitting on a bridge, hanging down his feet, and staring at the lake beneath it. He’s holding a green leaf in his hands, twirling it between his fingers. Draco is sitting next to him in the same position, holding a short, thin branch in his hands.

The sound of nature calms Draco. The sun is high up and it paints them with gold and warmth. The forest surrounding them is silent and immersive. It’s only them and no one else. One of the rare moments in their rushing life.

The absence of a third person is so visible it makes Draco shrink with a piercing pain in his chest.

He’s holding the branch and feels the rough of the wood, the life beneath it all. He stares down at the deep lake as a fish leaps out of the water and then slides back in. Life is everywhere, as vivid as many unreachable things.

Draco wonders if it would have still been here if Voldemort had won.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Greg speaks then lightly, quietly, calmly and Draco stares at him, for a brief moment, seeing someone else.

“What is better this way?” Draco asks back but he already knows.

Greg sighs and he looks young. But then he says something which makes Draco pause.

“I think it’s good they’re banning us from using magic,” Greg slowly twirls the leaf. “Even if the others hate it, even if they think it’s inhuman. Is it really that bad to go back to our roots, Draco?” Greg shakes his head and then looks at Draco, asking, “Is it really that bad to be human? Even if it’s just for a little while?”

Draco finds himself not being able to answer. He thinks about all his restless nights, holding onto the idea of being remembered, of being special and here is Greg, begging to catch the string of being ordinary.

And Draco can’t speak.

Greg looks away, his gaze is clear as he raises his head to look at the light blue sky. “Was it worth it? I ask myself this every single day,” Greg shakes his head again, the leaf gently rests in his hand. “Was it worth it? Hating someone because of their blood, hating someone because of their heritage or because of who they are? Does that even matter? Anymore?” Greg takes a deep breath. “It’s just – there’s a moment in the middle of the most horrific time in your life when you realize there are so many things to do instead of hate.”

Draco thinks about hate and it feels distant and yet so close. There are so many sides to hate, there are so many people who deserve the end of it.

But now, after all that has happened, after all that is done, hate is the least of the things Draco feels. Hate is easy, hate is achievable, hate is the one thing that is not out of reach.

Hate is familiar and that is why Draco looks away when it’s gazing into him.

“Here we are,” Greg continues softly, twirling the leaf, “at the end of a war and it’s still ongoing Draco and it never stops after this. We will not have good careers or let alone careers, we will not find what we’re looking for because we can’t go search for it, and we’re waiting to be someone else,” Greg then said, letting go of the leaf, “We’re already ordinary.”

It’s quiet and the sun is high up so Draco closes his eyes.

Greg hates the way Vincent died. He hates narrow corridors, and he hates following recipes from cooking books.

Greg loves feeling the sun’s warmth on his face. He loves the smell of cakes, and he loves the letters he gets early in the morning.

And in that minute, for that frozen time, both of them are kids.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy playlist:
> 
> Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ae6LDeYtF2ptNuRPMtloO?si=6YaA7T3ZRIOXM6Dd4Z15dA)


	4. Scene IV: Clair de lune by Claude Debussy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils! Here's the new chapter!! I hope you'll will like it and enjoy it :33 after this short one, the next one is also going to be short, but after that the chapters will be getting longer and longer! I hope you guys like the story so far, or find it really unique and new! 
> 
> On twitter you can follow the story's progress or talk about it under the hashtag of LFDdDLM :333

**ACT I**

**Scene IV**

**Clair de lune by Claude Debussy**

_“It’s a door that never opens.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

1st June, 1998

Draco feels the absence of his father the most when he’s looking at Mother being judged upon for things that seem meaningless and so tiny next to everything else other people have done.

Tracey Davis is standing next to Draco, already having her trial. She’s got the same punishment as Pansy which Draco is relieved by.

She’s shorter than Draco, but her stance feels like a soldier’s. Tracey with brown, long hair and dark eyes – Tracey who looks normal and yet stands out in a crowd.

At Hogwarts, everyone made fun of her. The way she looked because of her lineage. In the Slytherin House, no one else had been Asian, and little kids had always been the worst. Not to mention, Tracey being a half–blood.

Draco, at that time, tried to avoid her as well, but then he couldn’t.

Because there is something in Tracey which draws you in. Not her unique appearance, or the way she acts. It’s more about how whenever she appears, something magical happens.

It’s more about how every person Draco has ever known, has a wonderful memory with her. It’s more about how Tracey is the first person Draco and everyone else has befriended, ignoring the blood status.

It’s more about how Tracey had been Vincent’s love since day one, as far as Draco could remember.

They met in a very interesting way, on a very good day.

_“She offered me a bet,” twelve year old Vincent Crabbe said at the train, looking so grumpy Draco was afraid for him getting that many wrinkles at such an early age. “She said I couldn’t make Goyle spit out his drink while telling a joke.”_

_Draco was not amused at all, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So you said, I bet you I could?” he drawled, and then looked at Greg in the compartment, who was covered with pumpkin juice. Then, he moved his eyes a bit to the left, seeing another person standing there–_

_The corner of his lips almost curled up._

_Vincent continued, looking at the girl as well with a smug grin on his face, “Yeah but after I told the joke, then–“ he began laughing, “–then I noticed that she,” he pointed at Tracey, holding his stomach and wheezed, “she spat it out, too!”_

_Greg got offended – for his sake or Tracey’s nobody will ever know –, Draco bit his bottom lip in order to prevent himself from laughing, and Vincent was wheezing so much he started coughing, slowly almost choking himself to death. Draco hit his friend’s a couple of times in the back, until he was breathing normally again._

_Tracey, who was covered in pumpkin juice, too, only said with a loud groan, “Yeah, well it was funny!” A flush crept up her face as she turned around, and walked away, shutting the compartment door behind her with a loud bang._

_All three were too stunned to say anything but then Greg began, “So all of this,” he pointed at himself, “was for nothing?”_

_Vincent blinked, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”_

_Greg shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “What do you mean, what do you mean?” he pointed at himself, yet again. “I thought if I acted like I found the joke funny and spit the drink out, then she would throw herself at you, and promise that she would be your wife.”_

_Draco’s jaw fell down, but Vincent only said with a forlorn expression, “You didn’t think it was funny?” Vincent gasped. “Maybe she didn’t find it funny either.”_

_“Unbelievable!” Greg clapped out of frustration. “That’s the only thing you heard from what I have just said, you dumb oaf?”_

_Draco’s jaw was still down, but Vincent only said, now on the verge of crying, “I thought it was funny. That I am funny– am I not funny?”_

_Greg was shaking his head walking out of the compartment, murmuring, “For the sake of Morgana, you’re so stupid.”_

_The door opened then again, and Theo appeared with an interesting look on his face as he gazed at Vincent. “Why is Goyle covered with pumpkin juice, and why is he lamenting about you to the chocolate lady?”_

_Vincent and Draco answered at the same time:_

_“I don’t think I’m funny anymore.”_

_“Vincent has a wife.”_

_They exchanged a look and Theo burst out laughing._

Tracey is Vincent’s everything and around this time of the year, they would have been married.

And just like that everything grows so cruel.

It takes a while until Draco slowly comes out of his daze, but when he does he stares at Mother standing in the centre of it all, and realizes he’s not always enough.

Mother seems to be brave as she holds the gaze of hundreds of people who look down on her for what she had done, for who she had married, and for what she had brought into this world. In a brief moment, Mother looks into the crowd, tilting her head, searching for someone.

Searching for Father.

It’s like waiting, staring at the door expecting someone to open it and come in but it’s always someone else.

It’s never that one person you’ve been hoping for.

Draco isn’t saddened by it, nor he feels as if this should hurt him at all. He’s done this before a lot of times as well. Whenever he takes a walk out in the garden and sits down at the table, and raises his cup of tea. Whenever he plays chess, whenever he feeds the peacocks or goes into the living room, looking at his piano.

He always turns his head searching for someone who is not there, searching for Father.

Seeing her eyes scanning the room, inspecting every person’s dress and the way they hold themselves, the shape of their faces, the color of their eyes–

It’s a door that never opens.

“What’s so interesting in that crowd, Lady Malfoy?” the mocking voice makes Draco take a deep breath, already feeling irritated. Mother looks back, her face is unreadable. “I know it’s hard to concentrate when you’re faced with your sins, but at least try for the sake of us, okay?”

Draco sees red and he takes a step forward, but then a hand stops him by his shoulder. Tracey’s. The air sits heavy in his lungs and the storm, the dead winter in his bones just wants to see the end of all the people in this room. He would do it for Mother. There’s few things he wouldn’t do for her.

But then a voice cuts through. A voice Draco knows well.

It’s a powerful voice, loud enough to be important, yet quiet enough to make a difference. A voice that says,

“She saved my life.”

It’s Potter’s.

Tracey doesn’t let go of his shoulder but Draco feels the hold of her strength lessen as he turns around to see the owner of the voice. Everyone does as the whole room falls silent. There’s only one person next to him and it’s not Granger, and it’s not Weasley. It’s Neville Longbottom who is as equally shocked as everyone else. Potter walks closer to the centre, and he doesn’t glance at anybody. He’s looking ahead. Into the eyes of the jury, into the eyes of people, into the law.

As if he demands to be stopped, as if he dares them to put him down. Then he glances down at Mother and it doesn’t seem real, and she’s looking at him as well.

Yet, it doesn’t seem real.

“Narcissa Malfoy saved my life,” Potter begins, making every person wince in the room, “This woman lied to Voldemort about my death,” everyone flinches, “without her, we couldn’t have won,” he looks straight into the eyes of the jury and adds, “without her, everyone would be dead.”

Draco stares at the scene unfolding in front of him and he sees two worlds.

He sees a beginning and an ending, an ending and a beginning, and it’s twirling, and it doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t seem real.

And Potter doesn’t say more, he just turns around and walks away, not looking back, not looking at anybody.

Draco takes a haggard breath, it sticks into the life beneath his skin. He feels Tracey lift up her hand from his shoulder, making him fall down on his knees, the same time Mother does.

All the people begin to shout, whisper furiously, curiously, endlessly and then the jury says, “An Auror is to be positioned with her, and a house arrest for as long as we think it’s needed.”

Everyone is shouting but all Draco can think is that a memory that has a deep impression is the one that stays.

And he’s kneeling there, and everyone is shouting, and Tracey is frozen, standing next to him.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy Playlist: 
> 
> Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ae6LDeYtF2ptNuRPMtloO?si=72bfO13wTvSB5o9748R7tw)
> 
>   
> How the characters look like continuation:
> 
>   
> – Tracey:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1e/c0/f1/1ec0f1cae6dd8bf499de6f0b867e24be.jpg)
> 
>   
> – Neville:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/64/7f/1f/647f1f475645317dc11d48fe694d3297.jpg)
> 
>   
> – Harry:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/70/85/24/708524e3905ffa771ca3aafcb07e55e2.jpg)
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/18/cf/9a/18cf9a511b44f56e2f933636d450f7dd.jpg)
> 
>   
> – Young Draco (for cuteness):
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c9/31/21/c931216cc5aa603b9c08bf46a6405679.jpg)


	5. Scene V: Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils!! Here's the new chapter :D It's the last short chapter so I think that tells everything. Buckle up!
> 
> To people who has commented and gave kudos so far! I love you guys!! You deserve the world!!

**ACT I**

**Scene V**

**Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart**

_“It’s better to be a monster in plain sight than to be a saint clothed in white.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

4th June, 1998

Draco is the only one who doesn’t have an assigned Auror nor has a house arrest. He’s also allowed to use minimal magic like Mother does.

_“There’s nothing we can use,” the jury said, the annoyance in his voice is clear. He puts the papers down, and looks up with severe expression. “Nothing at all.”_

Draco thinks it’s this way because of Father.

Father who made sure Draco did everything without being seen. Who made sure Draco acted behind the curtains, who made sure no one knew what he really did or what he did not do.

Father who made Draco somebody even if he was nobody.

In a way, Draco thinks, it’s better to be a monster in plain sight than to be a saint clothed in white. Even though, no one realizes you’re the monster. Even though, no one sees you are one.

Draco looks down at the journal in his hand and draws little circles on the margins. He imagines time running down on his fingertips into the ink and then on the paper. The circles are clean and not messy, definitive and easy to notice. Then he sighs, and then flips a page. There are drawings of people – most of them are of Mother and Pansy, sometimes Blaise because Draco could never threaten Theo successfully, to allow him to make a drawing of him.

Mother is holding a record in her hand in that drawing. The light shines through the curtains and paints her face with brightness. Her hair is white and the art resembles elegance and the birth of something new.

When Draco looks at it the only thing that comes into his mind is life.

He turns another page and it’s Pansy.

Pansy is drawn with darker ink – black line art with strong strokes. Her gaze is sharp and she’s smiling at someone who is at her left. Draco smiles, it’s probably Blaise. On the right corner, Draco reads a sentence he has written there in French, from one of his favorite books.

“ _Le seule chose qui ne doit pas céder à la loi de la majorité est la conscience de l’individu._ ”

Draco grazes his fingertips on the ink, his eyes are somber.

When Draco flips more pages he comes face to face with Blaise and he’s smiling – probably at Pansy. When Draco wants to see hope, he opens this journal and looks at these two drawings.

Draco is skipping some pages now, he sees drawings of Hogwarts, of the Slytherin headquarters and common room, the Quidditch Pitch.

He finds a drawing of Greg and Vincent, and freezes.

They are so young, eating at the great hall, stuffing their faces with cakes and muffins. They’re smiling even though they look like a mess.

Draco feels a ghost of a smile on his face.

He turns more pages and he sees shopping lists and doodling. He identifies Pansy’s handwriting at first.

_Just ask someone already! Who would turn you down???!! Seriously? Have you looked at yourself???? You’re almost as handsome as Theo!_

And then Blaise’s.

_She’s right, Draco. You have to pull yourself together man otherwise Theo will get a date before you and that’s insane._

Draco snorts and reads more.

_Maybe I don’t wanna go, did you guys think about that? Who cares anyway? It’s just a stupid Yule ball._

Pansy’s turn again, and the letters are so close to each other it almost blends together, she must have been furious:

_It’s not about going to the dance, it’s about making memories!!!_

Draco traces the lines with his fingers. There isn’t any writing after this, not on this page at least, so after a while he flips more pages – he sees reminders about essays and exams, and little notes about transfiguration, and potion ingredients later on.His hold turns strong, his fingertips are turning white.

Draco had never been on good terms with his godfather, but Severus in his sixth year drastically changed. It might have been because of the unbreakable oath, it might have been not.

Draco only knows this:

Severus talked to him every single day, and half of the time, they were all meaningless conversations.

Questions about life, questions about the future, the favorite things of Draco. Whenever Draco wasn’t repairing the cabinet, Severus would ask him to walk with him and talk. About anything at all. It was different from Father, it was certainly different from Mother, but around that time Draco had no one to talk to except him.

It was like finding someone who would never be disappointed in you no matter what you do.

Draco wonders, many times, what would have happened if he and Severus had tried to get to know each other earlier in their lives.

He closes the journal with a loud thump and brings it close to his chest.

But this is, yet again, another door that never opens.

This is, yet again, another blank page about to be gone with the wind in Draco’s thin book.

This is, yet again, another blink and a deep breath of air.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy playlist:
> 
> Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ae6LDeYtF2ptNuRPMtloO?si=6YaA7T3ZRIOXM6Dd4Z15dA)


	6. Scene VI: When Will You Come Home by M83

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii my adorable–evils!!! Here's the new chapter and I hope you will all like it!! This story is the love of my life so I would give the world to each person who commented ever since I've began to post it - you guys are the best I love you with all my heart.

**ACT I**

**Scene VI**

**When Will You Come Home by M83**

_“I’d rather be completely ordinary, than to be extraordinary, but not notice the ground has vanished beneath my feet.”_

_\- Astoria Greengrass_

5th June, 1998

Astoria, for Draco, is the first note of a rusty cello in the midst of a deserted land filled with dust and rain.

It’s a sound you’ve long forgotten by now, and it’s a sound you never expect to hear again. You’ve been walking for years never seeing anyone else, only hearing your own thoughts and it’s scorching and the air escapes from your lungs like the clouds above.

But in your heart you realize you’re not alone.

Somewhere nearby close, a person is playing the instrument so that others can hear it. She’s not playing for herself, she’s giving beginnings, she’s giving a chance to others. To find her. To seek freedom, clarity or a change.

Astoria Greengrass, perhaps, feels like this for a lot of people.

Draco can’t remember when he met Astoria for the first time. It’s been a long time ago and so many things have happened that he doesn’t know anymore. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. First meetings often hide behind the corner of the mind, second and third meetings however, seem to bring some joy and wonder to ponder about.

Astoria, for Morgana knows when, asked Draco a long time ago whether he knew what he would want to do in life.

It hadn’t been that long now that he thought about it, but he remembered how, for a couple of minutes, he couldn’t even answer. No one had ever asked that, and at that time, Draco didn’t want to talk about something like that to anybody either. From within, in a deep part of his soul, he didn’t believe he would have a future. Whether he would make it or not by the end of the war.

Perhaps that was the reason Draco was stunned.

Perhaps he did not expect that someone would talk to him, that someone would say anything to him at all. Perhaps he didn’t think someone would care about him, would notice him.

He blends into the crowd. He’s nobody. Ordinary.

Invisible.

Perhaps that was the reason why Draco was stunned.

Because Astoria at that time just turned her head and asked, “What do you want to do after all of this is over?”

Because she just believed in it. That Draco would live, that they would live, that all of them would find a way to survive.

But then again, Astoria always had faith in things that seemed impossible.

Astoria and Draco might have been fourteen when they first kissed. They were each others, completely whole, unstoppable and she had faith in that from the get go as she did with everything else.

They were somebody when they were together.

And Draco thinks life works in such funny ways. Now, he’s sitting on the hills with Astoria, in front of River Ouse in Yorkshire. He thinks it’s fate, as he’s staring at her, the wind is dancing with her brown hair and it’s like waves of a sea. Her eyes are blue and they rest on the sky, looking at the stars.

Draco thinks, gazing at her, that Astoria is the reason he knows what love is.

“They act like they have never done one single bad thing in all their lives,” Astoria whispers and then lowers her head, pulling up her knees, hugging them and laying her head on them. “It’s not about the punishment, it’s about the behavior.”

Draco sighs and mimics Astoria’s pose, looking at the river ahead as well. “They don’t think we’re equal. In any way.” Draco pauses for a moment. “At least you and Daphne were left out of it. It’s better that way.”

“Still,” Astoria begins, her voice airy, “we weren’t exactly victims either. You know that too, Draco. We have done enough.”

There’s silence and Draco can hear the boats leaving the docks. It’s a distant sound, loud enough to be important, yet quiet enough to make a difference and Draco, without really knowing why, asks, “Astoria, are you afraid of being ordinary?”

She thinks about it for a long time before she says, “I’d rather be completely ordinary, than to be extraordinary, but not notice the ground has vanished beneath my feet. That I’m above in the clouds, never looking down, never paying attention to other people. People I care about, people who care for me.”

Draco gives her a little smile which she returns with ease. “You’ve always had a way with words.” Draco thinks life works in such funny ways.

Now, he’s sitting on the hills with Astoria, in front of River Ouse in Yorkshire. He’s staring at her, the wind is dancing with her brown hair and it’s like waves of a sea. Her eyes are blue and they rest on the sky, looking at the stars and she smiles.

Draco thinks, gazing at her, that Astoria is easy to love.

Perhaps that’s why he says, “Every time I see you I just feel more alone,” and the world stops then.

Not for too long.

Only for a little while.

Only for Draco to see her gaze back, her eyes the same as his. It contains a pain he knows well.

Because being lonely is a haunting feeling.

You are surrounded by people – let them be strangers, let them be loved ones, friends, family, relatives. You are surrounded by those who care for you.

You can live in a rushing, colorful centre of a city or a loud, joyful village. You can live with seven people in a house or just live merely with one. You can have an exciting, busy life or a normal, calm one.

And still feel lonely.

There are several ways to notice if you are lonely, but maybe the times when it becomes clear the most to Draco, is when he falls asleep.

It’s not because it’s quiet, it’s not because it’s dark, it’s not because he doesn’t have anyone to reach out to.

The reason is something else.

Astoria breaks the comforting silence when she whispers, “I love you,” and even if not for her eyes, her voice tells it all, the same thing.

It’s a different ‘I love you’ and not because Draco’s is different as well. It’s a different ‘I love you’ because Astoria wants to find her _after all of this is over_ , and Draco can’t look away from his thin, torn up book.

It’s because Astoria never thinks about time. Not in the way Draco does, not in the way as its passing by like an old stranger you’ve never seen before and you’ll never meet again. Astoria thinks about time with enthusiasm, filled with opportunities. Draco has lost all he has and it feels as if his story is about to end, but Astoria’s book is just getting started.

And it’s not because it’s quiet, it’s not because it’s dark, it’s not because he doesn’t have anyone to reach out to.

No.

Draco is lonely because he’s aching to wake up feeling happy.

And maybe Astoria, for Draco, is still that first note of a rusty cello in the midst of a deserted land filled with dust and rain. Maybe even after all of this.

Astoria Greengrass, perhaps, feels like that for a lot of people.

But Draco never followed the sound of that cello. Not anymore.

Draco’s eyes are set on the sky, out in the open, staring into the sun. Because he’s waiting for something but he has no idea what that is or even if it will ever come. It’s an ending he seeks, that much he’s certain of, but not the ending of his life.

More of an ending similar to kneeling on the ruins of the bridge of Hogwarts, an ending as bowing his head in front of the law or walking freely without having a single eye on him filled with disgust. An ending similar to having tea with father on a bright Sunday morning in the garden, or reading with Mother every single day at three am in the living room.

An ending he could have had. A happier one, a better one.

It’s something he will never have, something that will never come. It’s a dour book filled with thin pages getting close to the last number on the corner of the papers, it’s birds in the sky far away that won’t ever come back home, it’s clean drawn circles on the margins of a journal, it’s an invisible sea with wind.

It’s a door that never opens.

And Astoria asks the same question again. At that time Draco didn’t know how to answer, and now, he still couldn’t.

There are two candles on the cake which Astoria has made; a one, and an eight. Before Draco could say anything, Astoria lights them up with her wand, the fire makes her eyes golden, and then she gently says, “Happy Birthday.”

Draco loves her so much and it must show on his smile because Astoria leans closer for one last kiss. One last kiss before it’s over, before they end, before they go back to who they were before their first kiss.

The last kiss is just like the first one.

Gentle, like a cello’s last movement in a piece by Bach. Blazing, as a scorching sun up in the blue sky. Familiar, like an old letter from a person you hold dear.

She was his first kiss, she was his first love, she was his first to paint her body with his own and Draco wouldn’t have it any other way.

After the kiss, Astoria whispers with a smile, “Why don’t you wish for something?”

“What if it doesn’t come true?” Draco smiles and looks down at the candles.

Some people would call him silly, or laugh but Astoria says, beaming, “You never know,” and it makes Draco so fond with life.

He closes his eyes and thinks about his wish but he doesn’t need to think about it for far too long. After that she slices the chocolate cake that is between them, on a duvet, laid on the grass. They’re eating the slices with their hands, making a mess out of themselves, laughing and talking all night.

Now, he’s sitting on the hills with Astoria, in front of River Ouse in Yorkshire. He’s staring at her, the wind is dancing with her brown hair and it’s like waves of a sea. Her eyes are blue and they rest on the sky, looking at the stars and he smiles.

An endless circle, this way. A deep, dark sea, ice cold around Draco’s hands as he dips them in. It’s similar to a beginning and an ending, and an ending and a beginning.

Draco thinks, gazing at her, that letting things go sometimes feels like coming home.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy playlist:
> 
> Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ae6LDeYtF2ptNuRPMtloO?si=6YaA7T3ZRIOXM6Dd4Z15dA)
> 
> How the characters look like continuation:
> 
> – Astoria:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3b/6d/52/3b6d52c6bdcbf0b01bb5d9c3d3b31a62.jpg)


	7. Scene VII: A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Louis Armstrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils! Here's the new chapter and I hope you'll enjoy it :)) and I also hope life is not so stressful and that all of you are happy, if not, I wish all good things may come to you people's way!

**ACT I**

**Scene VII**

**A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Louis Armstrong**

_“But then it is coming back to him, slow by slow, like the music out of that gramophone.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

5 June, 1998

Whenever Draco sees Mother, he feels like his childhood comes back home to him. It’s a feeling that doesn’t pass by him, it’s a feeling that never will. Her and Father are everything he remembers from the years of growing up and she’s the only reason Draco knows what it means to have someone beside you.

Simply knowing you are never alone.

Whenever Draco sees Mother, she’s strong. She’s standing with a straightened back, never lowers her head and never raises her voice because she has never needed to do that.

Draco thinks about Father and how he is not here anymore, and he also thinks how he won’t get used to it. He will never be here again, flesh and bone, in front of Draco.

It’s just him and Mother now and she knows that, too.

Therefore whenever Draco sees Mother, she’s powerful.

But there are times. Times when Draco is one step behind, or simply turns around just the right way to catch the glimpse of what it really means to be powerful.

When Mother thinks he’s not looking, she closes her eyes. She lowers her head.

She buries her face into her hands, not saying a word.

The silence is often betraying the emptiness of this house. Empty of one person.

The truth is that power never lies behind the acts of one person. There is no power of doing anything on your own while millions are looking at you.

The power lies behind what one person does when no one is looking.

Draco thinks how there are too many people who know so little and act so big just as how there are too many people who do not want to know more about certain things in life – who think that everything is fine the way that it is now.

But maybe these people go quiet in their own homes as well. You never really know.

Draco leans on the doorway and crosses his arms in front of his chest, staring at his mother, as she’s reading a book.

It’s his birthday and he has just came back from Astoria so of course that Mother looks calm, curling up on the armchair, slowly turning the pages.

She looks powerful.

_“Why do I need to learn this? To dance?” Thirteen year old Draco was poking the weird device standing in the corner. “And what is this anyway?” he asked with a frown._

_Mother lightly slapped his hand away and Draco clicked his tongue, bringing his arm close to his chest, holding the injury that wasn’t there. “That hurt,” he said, playing the victim._

_She smiled. “No, it didn’t,” she then pointed at the device. “This is a gramophone. We got this from a dear friend of ours. There’s a famous wizard who created this and now it’s popular in the muggle world. She showed me how to use it, but well, we will see how this turns out, shall we–”_

_“Popular with muggles?” Draco looked disgusted. “And I touched it?!” he exclaimed and then moved over, further from the device. Mother tapped on his nose, and then put something on the device – it looked like a circle made of solid black paint. After a little adjustment, the music started to play._

_Draco didn’t know the song and he did not care about it either, so he asked, “Did Father allow this?” The disgust didn’t go away in the slightest, it was visible in his tone._

_Narcissa sighed and then kneeled down in front of Draco. She intertwined their hands, fingers together, and then said, “He doesn’t like it,” she looked away, her gaze felt meaningful but Draco had no idea why or what it might have meant at that time. “But he said we could use it while he was not at home,” she still didn’t look back at Draco. “But you know, maybe I can make him end up being fond of it, too.”_

_Draco didn’t like that her mother was not looking at him, his frown vanished as he turned confused. “Why is this so important to you?” he wanted to let go of her hands but she held it tightly. Draco became even more confused, so he continued,“Why is it so important to make him like this…this thing? Why is it so important to make me learn how to dance and use this device?”_

_Mother still didn’t look back, she was gazing down, lowering her head._

_It was an unfamiliar sight, seeing her in such a vulnerable state. A wrong sight, no matter how he looked at it.It was so unfamiliar, that for a moment Draco forgot everything he had known about himself, and asked with an uncertain tone, without ever really knowing why, “So when do we start practicing?”_

_And she looked up._

The memory fades away as Draco pushes himself from the doorway and walks in, his mother raises her gaze. “You’re still up?” She asks with a little smile, putting down the book. “It’s three in the morning, you birthday boy,” Mother sends him a cheeky smile.

Draco doesn’t answer, he just merely walks towards the old gramophone by the corner, covered with a white, blank sheet. He doesn’t say a word as he pulls it off, revealing the treasure of his mom.

It’s not worn out, nor coated with dust. It’s still deep red and next to it on the ground, there are a couple of records piled up – those which have not been destroyed or somewhere lost around the house.

“Draco?” Mother asks, her voice is uncertain, hesitant. The same as his was back then, a long time ago.

Draco begins to search for the record his mother loves the most, and when he finds it, he places it on the way he has been taught.

And the song starts.

A slow, catchy piano and the voice of a soulful man, according to Mother. In rare times, Draco finds that he agrees.

He turns around and Mother brightens up, her smile reminds Draco of the colorful garden they have, the pattern of butterfly wings. She reaches towards him and Draco pulls her close, and after all this time, he is finally taller than her.

It starts off slow, and Mother says things she always does. Don’t look at your feet, keep your back straight, and she laughs at his miserable attempts. Draco says he has lost his touch because of the lack of practice.

But then it is coming back to him, slow by slow, like the music out of that gramophone.

Now Mother seems peaceful, following Draco but then the song changes its rhythm, and Draco twirls her around, and laughs as she almost falls down. They let each other go, and Draco smiles while his mother begins singing, moving her dress along the gentle sound of the trumpet and it isn’t beautiful, more like out of tune, but they are smiling and Draco slowly twirls her again.

The song is loud and the house is not so quiet anymore.

He lays his head on mother’s shoulder, hugging her. They’re swaying along the trumpet, Mother presses a kiss on the side of his head, cradling the back of it with one hand, and hugs him by his waist with the other.

It’s like that and he’s thirteen again.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**


	8. Scene VIII: 6.3 Courante by Johann Sebastian Bach (arr. Peter Gregson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils! Here's the new chapter and I love it with all my heart. I hope you guys will enjoy it too!

**ACT I**

**Scene VIII**

**6.3 Courante by Johann Sebastian Bach (arr. Peter Gregson)**

_“The first day he arrives is on a sunny Tuesday, and Draco knows Tuesdays are accompanied with luck.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

9th June, 1998

Auror Gawain Robards is a stoic, cold man who never shows emotion on his face. At first, when Draco sees him, he thinks he’s a doll or a machine. Not a real person, he can’t be, with his long beard despite being in his thirties, or the horrendous Auror robes with different colors he wears each day.

But then Auror Gawain Robards frowns at the sight of one of their peacocks and somehow that is the most human thing Draco has seen so far in this week.

It’s certainly difficult to have one more person in this house and not let it be Father. Even if nothing can be done against it. Robards, surprisingly, never shows his hostility or disgust, he resembles a blank canvas often than not, which Draco is wholeheartedly surprised by.

The first day he arrives is on a sunny Tuesday, and Draco knows Tuesdays are accompanied with luck. At least that’s how he remembers it. Pansy has always hated Tuesdays but that might have been because of Blaise who always went for a fashion show on that day at that time, long ago, when they were younger.

Draco, for all he can remember, has always had his best days of his life on a Tuesday. Mother always makes fun of him, thinking it is silly and even a bit paranoid for a whole lot of reasons. Father, however, has always thought Draco isn’t so far off.

Anything Draco does on a Tuesday often ends up being beneficial like a serendipity.

They are sometimes small wins, but sometimes they are miracles.

Auror Gawain Robards steps into their home on a sunny Tuesday and Draco remembers Father’s words from a long time ago.

_“Everywhere you go, Draco, truly everywhere,” Father said with a determined look in his eyes, as if anything he was about to say he knew it would come true no matter what happened. “May you walk to the end of the world, through countries, through cities. I wish that everywhere you go, the world will be on your side, giving you Tuesdays every single day until you stop walking.”_

Draco at that time is too young to understand the power, and the meaning behind those words, the heaviness of the wish. But now, it is all clear.

Almost like Father’s fogbound, about what the man has thought about the future or in sense of time.

Fogbound that vanishes revealing all the lights of the lamps on the side of the road in the dark night, piercing colors of gold, red and white. It’s not similar to the blazing sparks from Mother’s fire, it does not resemble Draco’s dark sea of waves.

It’s easy as air, easy as breathing.

Draco just keeps staring at the sun, out in the open, and for a little while it feels like he is not here.

It feels like he is not anywhere.

He’s closing his eyes.

Then he opens them, shutting the front door to turn around and see that Robards are not there anymore. He’s probably trying to find Mother.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

Robards is a silent person, but in Draco’s opinion, he takes his task – or his order, so to say – profoundly seriously.

He is assigned to keep an eye on Mother.

Which is, in many ways, a certainly easy job no matter how Draco looks at it. Mother won’t go anywhere, there is no reason to do so, not to mention the fact that she is also banned from leaving the manor.

It just makes it harder that Robards shows as much expression as a wall made of bricks. It’s demonstrated the most when they are having green tea and Mother speaks, “Auror Robards,” she points at the chair next to her with a little smile. “Please, do sit down and have tea with us, you’ve been standing there for hours and I’m sure it can not be very much comfortable.”

Draco stops midway drinking his own green tea, eagerly anticipating an answer or anything at all from Robards, but the older man just simply says, “Thank you, but I have to decline,” and then continues to stand there with his hands folded behind his back.

In the evenings, Robards goes out to patrol outside the manor, scouting the area for any shady activities.

Mother draws the curtain and looks out of the window with a little frown on her face. “If he was awful, maybe we could handle him a lot better,” she gives out a little laugh and lets the curtain go, turning back to Draco, her smile still lingering. “At least he seems to have integrity. That’s rare these days. It’s always been rare.”

Draco gives out a quiet hum in agreement, looking out of the window as well. Then he walks away to sit down on an armchair and picks up a book on the pile that lays on the ground next to him, staring to read it.

Draco finds the page he’s on and then continues reading.

_‘I have every useless thing in the world in my house there. The only thing wanting is the necessary thing, a great patch of open sky like this. Always try to keep a patch of sky above your life, little boy,’ he added, turning to me. ‘You have a soul in you of rare quality, an artist’s nature; never let it starve for lack of what it needs.’_

Draco brushes his thumb over the words, as if they can move beneath his skin and bloom it into home.

Sometimes he and Mother ask each other where they are at with the book they are reading. It’s Tuesday so Draco decides to ask.

Mother gives him a smile from the couch in front of him and begins to read out loud, “ _The man who lies asleep will never waken fame–_ ” her voice calms Draco and he closes his eyes with a little smile on his face. “ _–and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of memory fade from time like smoke in air, or ripples on a stream.”_

Draco doesn’t open his eyes but his smile is peaceful, and he is at ease.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

Meanwhile the world goes on, and days are getting by and it’ll be already late after every passing minute. For a little while, Draco goes to bed early, trying to dream about a moment that would come too soon rather than too late.

As he’s lying there he imagines the whistles of a train, which is sometimes nearer and then further off. He imagines a town with people hurrying towards somewhere, and the path they take is engraved into his memory, as if he has been there. The excitement of the unknown, or the bittersweet farewells, the silence of the night, the joy of being home again, and the conversations of people who are long gone by now and people who would have seen the world as it is now.

Then, Draco opens his eyes and it is three in the morning. He’s in his room, and everything is quiet. He no longer recognizes it, feeling uneasy, as if he is in somebody else’s room, in a place where he has just arrived by a train for the first time.

Funny thing how everyone wants to go home.

Let that be anything – a person, a house, a garden, a city, a country. Everyone, no matter where they are, just wants to go home. A place where they belong. Touching the fence of a yellow painted house, hearing a rusty trombone in a glowing city, feeling the warmth of a special someone, looking at an old harbor by the sea.

Funny thing how now, Draco often thinks of his home, but he cannot think of it for too long, just at a time. Often, but a little at a time.

Draco thinks home is something you find your way back to.

You can head off for a walk and get lost in your thoughts just to realize you’re at home. You can be on the other side of the world, thinking about anything else than your home when you hear something or see something that reminds you what it feels like to belong somewhere.

When Draco comes back from his thoughts the sun is high up and the sky is clear.

He feels his book, the weight of it, as it becomes shallow. His story, the life he has led. He fills the weight of his book and not because it is heavy, but because it is too thin. Like the leaves falling off the trees, the rain washing away the dirt from the busy streets in a glowing city, or maybe swimming in an invisible sea.

Draco watches the sun rise and he breathes and it is too heavy on his lungs, like a bottom of an empty ocean filled with wind.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

15th June, 1998

The first time Robards starts talking to Draco, it is not on a Tuesday and he doesn’t say much but maybe, sometimes little things mean more than anything else ever could.

He’s out there, watering Mother’s flowers, touching the petals of the golden Sunflowers, the white and rose of Orchids,the purple of Violets, the blue of Hydrangeas. Draco is patient, takes his time because there is no reason to hurry or even rush.

He always begins watering the Sunflowers first because whenever he does the sun is up in the sky and they turn towards its direction, and it is rather silly how fond that makes Draco but it does, therefore he never passes the opportunity. A small, meaningless thing but it makes him smile all the same.

Mother sleeps on the terrace with a book next to her on a little wooden table, and Robards walks next to Draco with folded hands behind his back.

In Mother’s garden, time stays still and Draco can hold his breath and be at peace. The sun gives out gold waterfalls and Draco takes a deep breath, hearing the wind as it brushes through the leaves of trees, seeing the colorful pattern of a butterfly wing, and the dark stunning green paint on the grass beneath his feet.

When Robards speaks it’s slow but filled with wonder. “Do you do this everyday?”

Draco turns around and stops watering the flower for a minute. He looks down at the light green watering pot in his hand and then raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” he sounds hesitant but then slowly continues his work. “What of it?” he asks lightly, turning to water the other flowers as well.

Robards for a while only stare at him, and then can’t seem to find his voice. He just says, “You don’t use magic at all.”

And Draco doesn’t know what he means until out of the blue he understands.

He is not prohibited to use magic but everything he has done so far in the house has been done by his own hands. Cleaning, watering the garden, reading, making tea.

It might have been his conscious or it might have been not, Draco will never know, but the answer was evidential either way.

“Because Mother doesn’t use it either,” his voice is light and he notices how Robards turns speechless.

Draco doesn’t understand why.

**––––––––––––––––––––**

23rd June, 1998

The second time it happens, it is on a Tuesday, and it is when Draco is reading in the kitchen and Mother is having a bath in the bathroom.

Robards is in front of him with his arms folded before his chest. It’s silent while Draco is chewing on one of the green apple bits that he has cut up from his plate which is lying on the table in front of him. He has offered some to Robards but he never accepted anything, waving a hand at him and the plate.

The candles in the kitchen slowly begins to melt and it might be three in the morning when Robards asks, “Where you’re at with the book?” his expression is the same, but the tone of his voice has a new layer which makes Draco pause for a minute.

He then stops eating the green apple bits and looks up from his book. A hesitant smile tiptoes over his face as he gazes back down and begins to read, “ _At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind wound bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be shallop or a three–decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes._ ” Draco feels the smile on his face soften, “ _But each morning, as she woke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow._ ”

When he finishes reading, his gaze turns up back at Robards. He has a contemplative expression on his face.

It’s Tuesday so Draco asks, “Do you like reading?” without a word, he gives Robards the book, who flips a couple of pages and reads a little bit.

Robards blinks and then lightly shrugs, giving the book back to Draco. “I don’t really read as such,” he tilts his head as if he doesn’t understand his own actions.

Draco mimics the motion. “Then why?” he doesn’t elaborate on it because he knows he doesn’t have to.

He then says with a wondering look in his eyes, “You and Lady Malfoy read all the time.”

Robards has an interesting gaze after that day. After the answer he gives. The clock is striking four and it’s like the never-ending circle, which Draco has drawn on the margins of his journal.

As if everything ends, but at the same time, it begins.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gawain Robards:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/89/a0/48/89a048e0dff657e8f77117f31e6e5767.jpg)


	9. Scene IX: Danse Napolitaine from Swan Lake by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (Arr. Draco Lucius Malfoy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils!!! here's the new chapter!! Thank you so much for commenting and bookmarking!! Love all of you, I hope you guys will enjoy the new chapter! :33

**ACT I**

**Scene IX**

**Danse Napolitaine from Swan Lake by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (Arr. Draco Lucius Malfoy)**

_“And Draco plays this with a smile and he always will no matter where he is.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

25th June, 1998

The third time is the magical part and perhaps it is because everything resembles a miracle when it’s happening for the third time, and maybe it’s because this time Robards actually doesn’t say anything but it’s more than anything he could have ever said.

It is close to midnight when Draco sits down on the piano and begins to play. Mother is out there on the terrace, drinking an old wine from another time and Draco thinks maybe she will hear his performance up there just right.

When he sits down on the piano stool he has no idea what he is about to play yet. He adjusts the sleeves of his white shirt and ruffles his hair to get out of his line of vision. He straightens his back and hold his breath as if he is the only one in this world and the moment he looks down on the black and white keys, the little piece of his life comes back to him like a new color of an ancient painting.

_“You can’t play either,” nine year old Draco crossed his arms before his chest and narrowed his eyes in anger. “So why do you have a say in this?”_

_Father looked unimpressed as he walked closer to Draco, and grabbed both of his shoulders, making him sit down on the piano stool. “I can’t play either, correct,” Father gave out a sly smile. “Therefore you will learn it so that you can teach it to me later.”_

_Draco tried to brush off his father’s arms from his shoulders, “You think you’re so funny, huh?” Father began to ruffle his hair and then tickle Draco who began to laugh so much tears started coming out of his eyes._

_That was the moment when Mother walked in. “Lucius!” she gasped and stopped in the middle of the room._

_Father quickly let go of Draco and then cracked his throat, gesturing towards the grand piano. “Well,” he began, his voice was smug. “Look what I bought!”_

_Draco bit his bottom lip in order not to laugh, his mother looked furious._

_“Yes,” her eyes widened as he came closer, her stance quite intimidating. “I can see that very well – and why exactly did you think it was a good idea to place it in the middle of the living room?”_

_Draco looked back to the piano and down at the keys, little bit liking the look of it all. He raised one of his hand above the keys, around the middle, gaze filled with wonder._

_Father stretched out his arms, clearly offended. “Where else would I put it?”_

_Mother raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea,” she pointed at the piano, “but clearly not there?!”_

_Father clicked his tongue. “Where else would I–”_

_Draco let his hand touch a key, and pressed down, giving out a nice tone._

_Both of his parents stopped and looked at him._

And suddenly Draco knows what to play.

It begins with powerful notes and it echoes in the room and it will until the very end as Draco moves to the softer keys, creating a melody. He moves through, playing, as if he would climb a stair, going back and forth and then stop all at once for a moment, surrounded by silence.

Then, he slowly starts the melody of it again, leaning back a little, beautifully moving his wrist. The song has always been one of his favorites, as all of _Tchaikovsky’s_ work but maybe it is because this peculiar song reminds him of his childhood. It is playful, repetitive and lively.

When he plays it he imagines valley of Sunflowers turning towards the sun high up in the sky. When he plays it he imagines the innocence in a smile of a child, a laughter from an old man, the love of his parents. When he plays it he imagines a light kiss from Astoria, a funny joke from Blaise, the delightful smell of a cake baked by Greg, the melancholic voice of Pansy, the warm hug from Theo. When he plays it he imagines the way Millicent paints, the funny handshakes Tracey makes with her friends, the heartwarming dance that Daphne does whenever no one is looking, and the favorite sweet of Vincent.

And Draco plays this piece with a smile and he always will no matter where he is.

When the song is catching up to Draco’s fingers it becomes fast like an endless race and Draco follows it through it, now paying attention and leaning closer to it a little. His feet moves with the rhythm, he uses the pedal to let it ring, to make it a resonance. He smiles with his eyes as he begins the stair of the keys faster, and faster, and faster, and faster, and faster, and faster, higher, and higher, and with more echo, with more power, and it’s so cheerful–

And then it’s over and Draco is laughing with joy.

He puts a hand on the piano and says, “You’ve still got it in you, don’t you?” He laughs a little, shaking his head and then pulling back his arms. He stands up from the piano stool and then moves away from the beautiful instrument, turning back, but then halts in his steps.

Robards is sitting on an armchair, leaning forward, both of his elbows on his knees with an astonished look on is his face.

For a moment there, Draco thinks he sees his parents’ expression, when he has pressed down that key for the first time. Or someone who has seen something for the first time, up close.

It might have been minutes or hours, Draco doesn’t know, after that Robards stands up from the chair and walks out of the room.

Draco might never forget the emotion his face and he might never be able to describe it either.

And maybe that is how it should be.

Some moments are better left open or end by the middle because you never know what would happen later in life.

No one ever really does.

**––––––––––––––––––––––**

It’s four in the morning and Draco is drawing something in his journal, and for the first time, it is something he has not seen before.

A sea. A deep blue sea.

The waves are curling up, similar to an untamed vicious monster but the view of it all is delicate and it almost slips out of Draco’s fingers while he smudges and sketches the color in it. He has no idea if this place exists, whether it is real or not, whether it looks like this or not, whether it is similar in any way to his art.

But he paints it real as if he has been there once.

In a way, looking at the finished work, it almost seems like, as if he has.

**––––––––––––––––––––**

Robards and Mother seem to get along well.

Draco sometimes, when he’s not reading and when he’s not watering the garden, notices how they talk but it is not a regular occurrence, rather a mere magical one. A boring joke from Robards, a funny one from Mother. A deep discussion of a few books because Robards has started to read.

Little things most people would not even bat an eye on, but Draco has a weak spot for unnoticeable treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Draco gives them a similar smile the first time Robards accepts the tea Mother has offered.

She smiles often now.

As if she has made a friend.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**


	10. Scene X: Op. 71.a. Russian Dance (Trepak) by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils!!! How are you? I hope everything is going well. Here's the new chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it :333

**ACT I**

**Scene X**

**Op. 71.a. Russian Dance (Trepak) by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky**

_“Draco smiles a little and now it’s three in the morning again.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

30th June, 1998

It’s on the 30th of June when everything slowly begins to change and it starts with a letter from Astoria’s older sister, Daphne Greengrass, at six in the morning.

Draco should have known something is about to happen because he and Robards are out in the terrace, Draco is drinking his morning green tea, while Robards is standing next to the table with his hands comfortable inside the pocket of his coat, and is looking at the distance, more precisely, at one of the peacocks before mildly saying, “One of them is looking at me.”

There are too many odd things in this situation but the thing that catches Draco’s attention the most, is that Robards initiated the conversation.

Therefore he looks up from his tea, and notices that Robards is staring to the left with great intensity. Draco follows the older man’s line of vision, realizing, that one of the peacocks is indeed focusing on Robards.

One of the meaner ones. Father had the trouble with that one as well.

“What did you do to piss off Ferdinand?” Draco snorts and takes a sip out of his cup of tea. “He’s always keeping it to himself, minding his own business. But when you rattle him, you better run,” Draco laughs and puts down his cup on the table. “Maybe try to avoid the garden one of these days for once in your life.”

Robards doesn’t even say anything he just keeps staring at Ferdinand. “I don’t like the way he is looking at me,” he says with a stone cold face.

Draco tries to keep himself from laughing. “What do you mean?” Draco points at the creature. “He’s adorable.”

The said albino creature with red eyes, now, is starting to get closer to the terrace and Robards takes a step back. Unconsciously or consciously, Draco will never know, he just gives out a smirk. “What is wrong, Robards?” He gestures towards Ferdinand. “Please don’t say that you are afraid of a little, harmless peacock named Ferdinand,” Draco snorts. “Even his name is a joke for Morgana’s sake!”

Robards still doesn’t look away from the bird. He just says, “Everyone is afraid of something. Besides,” he looks at Draco pointing at the peacock. “That bird is far from harmless and nowhere near looks like a bloody joke. It’s gigantic.”

Draco furrows his brows, looking at Ferdinand who doesn’t even reach up to his knees. “It’s really not that big,” he states.

Robards mimics his expression. “Yes,” he emphasizes. “Yes, it is.”

Draco’s jaw falls down in disbelief. “No, it is not?”

Robards looks at him as if Draco is blind. “Yes,” he points at Ferdinand, “it is!”

“No, it is not!” Draco’s eyes are wide by now.

Now, it’s Robards’ turn to look like a gaping fish. “Yes, it is!” His voice is clearly annoyed.

“No, it is not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it is not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it is not!”

An owl crashes into the table in front of them with a horrifying loud noise.

Draco raises an eyebrow at the poor thing, meanwhile Robards whirls around – all the way at least twice – seemingly rather alarmed, eyes wide, scanning the area.

Draco looks at the lying owl on the table – which is not moving at all –, and then back to Robards, debating whether to ask or not just what is going on, but eventually he says, “What in the world are you doing?”

Robards is looking up to the sky and simply asks, “How did I not see that bird coming?” There is not a single trace of panic in his voice, but he looks like the most paranoid person alive at the moment. “Is this lame excuse for an animal really that fast or I’ve become too useless? Fucking owls.”

Draco just simply blinks. Then blinks more. “Who are you and what have you done with the man who acted like he was a Kingsley Shacklebolt’s right hand man?” he reaches towards the letter and starts to open it with a butter knife that has been lying close to the plate on the table.

“Ha,” Robards looks at Draco, and his expression is priceless, “Quite the humor you got there.”

“Really?” Draco drawls and opens the letter, beginning to read it. He raises his cup of tea close to his mouth. “Theo often says I’m like a scorched up tuna when it comes to humor.” He’s starting to drink it.

Robards stays silent for a moment and then he asks, “What does that even mean?”

But then Draco reaches the last sentence of the letter and spits out his tea, right into the face of Robards.

Robards, who is now frowning, closing his eyes – the remains of the tea dripping down on his face to his Auror robes.

Draco is too stunned to even move as he rereads the last line again, putting the cup of tea back to the table. Robards raises a hand and wipes his face, giving out a loud sigh. “He probably meant by this, I presume,” he says instead and takes the napkin from the table, restarting the whole wiping process.

Draco stands up from his chair, and without a word, starts walking out of the garden.

“Where are you going?” Robards shouts it after him.

“To the Greengrass Manor!” Draco yells back. “Look after Mother and show her the letter, I’ll be back soon!”

The last line echoes in Draco’s mind and he is still under the shock but before he can even realize, he takes off into a run.

_All in all, Draco my friend, I’m getting married to Adrian Pucey._

**–––––––––––––––––––**

Draco doesn’t even knock on the Manor’s front door – he kicks it in. The loud noise echoes and the house elf in front of Draco jumps in fright, her hand is clutching onto the fabric of her cloth over her heart as she tries to catch her breath.

“Lory,” Draco says trying to contain his anger. “Where in the world is that son of a–”

“Draco?”

Draco’s eyes almost fell out of their places as he turns to his right, seeing none other than Marcus Flint.

Which would only mean–

Someone catches him by his arms, trapping him, and Draco doesn’t even need to turn around to see who it is, because Marcus Flint and Terence Higgs go everywhere together.

“What are you two even doing here?” Draco struggles and sets himself free, but then Marcus come to the rescue to hold him down with the help of Terence.

Lory’s eyes widen as she stands there, having no idea what to do.

“She said this would happen,” Terence speaks behind Draco, out of breath. “She said you would get angry–”

Draco grits his teeth. “Why wouldn’t I be angry? She’s lost her mind!” Draco, with a fast movement, turns around and grabs Terence’s arm, bending it backwards, and then flips him to the floor, the boy ending up on his back with a loud grunt.

Lory gasps, completely horrified as she starts healing Terence, and Marcus–

“Merlin’s Beard!” Marcus exclaims and stands in Draco’s way when he wants to continue his way. “For the skirts of my great dead grandmother, Draco what is your problem with Adrian? Why do you hate him so much?”

Draco almost pulls his hair out of frustration, his blood is pumping with so much adrenalin. “Marcus, you know you’re my old friend, but if you don’t step aside right about now, I will throw you out of the fucking window–”

“Well, well, if this isn’t dear Malfoy,” Adrian walks into the room and leans on the wall with a smug smile. “His Majesty, our savior and soldier,” Adrian makes a bow, his eyes filled with malice.

The mocking gesture prickles Draco’s skin.

“Oh no,” Marcus, Terence and Lory say at the same time.

And then everyone moves simultaneously.

Draco evades Marcus as he runs towards Adrian but before he can reach him, Marcus catches him and they end up on the floor. Draco tries to shake Marcus off by kicking him – it’s working, Marcus lets him go so Draco stands up. He looks at Adrian, and starts walking towards him–

Terence grabs him by his ankle and Draco pulls his leg, pulling Terence with him as well, so Lory grabs Terence’s leg – Draco falls down and grabs the nearest thing that he can grab, which is a vase – he throws it before he ends up on the floor.

It shatters on the wall, next to Adrian, who doesn’t even flinch. His smile is as smug as ever.

“Bloody motherfucking shitballs!” Marcus shouts, Lory next to her is pale as the wall. “Let _me_ go,” Draco growls at Terence but the other boy doesn’t even move. “I said, let me–”

“What is going on?” Daphne walks into the room but as soon as she sees the situation in front of her, she halts in her steps. Her jaw falls down, and her eyes are wide as she spots him. “Draco?!” She looks around again. “What are you doing? What is this mess?!”

Draco can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Me? What am I doing? No!” He points at her, still lying on the ground. “What are _you_ doing?!” Draco looks back at Adrian with clear disgust. “ _Him_? Daphne? _Him_? Are you kidding me?”

Daphne raises her arms, trying to calm Draco or the situation or both, as she slowly starts to get closer. “I knew you would be angry,” she begins. “That’s why I called here Marcus and Terence but I had no idea you would be this furious–”

“I’m furious, Daphne,” Draco stands up slowly, his gaze is ice cold as he looks at Daphne. Everyone else stands up as well, having their attention at Draco. “I’m furious because you deserve someone better than him, someone who’s genuinely nice,” Draco points at Adrian without looking away from Daphne. “I’m furious because you’re nineteen and you want to get married, and I’m furious because you think this is okay and because you think this will make you happy.”

Daphne can’t look away from him, and Draco can’t seem to breathe well because she doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t understand.

“Draco,” Daphne begins quietly. “Please calm down–”

But Draco only sees his torn thin book. With all the things he hasn’t done, with all the things he hasn’t seen, with all the time he’s lost.

All Draco sees is his tainted arm.

All he sees is his invisible sea.

And Draco knows he has to go, that he has caused enough trouble already. But before he does, before he turns around and walks out of the Greengrass Manor, he says something to Daphne.

“It’s hard to walk away from all the things that make you miserable, trying to find a new way of being happy, settling down for it, even if it isn’t the thing you’ve been looking for,” he looks down, taking a deep breath, “but it’s harder to stay behind and face your pain, eventually finding what you really want to do.” Draco looks up. “Maybe you should think about that,” his anger ceases, but all he ends up saying is her name as he goes away. “Daphne.”

And it’s quiet when he leaves.

Almost as quiet as his own home.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––**

When he arrives back to his house, it’s dark. Robards is sitting on a little bench in the garden, his elbows are on his knees, his chin leaning on his palm. When he sees Draco, he straightens his back and asks, “What took you so long?” And in that exact moment, Draco realizes how different his life has become from a month ago.

He sits down on the bench, next to Robards and leans back a little, looking up to the stars. The dark blue almost feels like an ocean, the weaves moving as the stars blaze. Draco finds himself thinking about the wish he has made on his birthday.

He stretches out an arm towards the night sky. “I wonder how you keep going.” Draco says lightly, and tilts his head to look at him. “Living a life where everyone looks up to you, having everything in reach, yet bearing all the lives you have taken.”

Robards doesn’t look back at Draco, he looks ahead of him. He doesn’t scan the area this time, he’s not looking for anyone. He sits here on this bench with Draco, as if he is a nobody, someone who has gotten lost along the road, and has decided to take shelter here.

He doesn’t answer to his question, he simply asks another, this time, from Draco, “I wonder how you keep enduring,” he says, looking up at the stars. “Being as human as the rest of us yet hated by everyone on this earth.”

As Robards says this, Draco realizes he’s grown into more from a quiet stranger in a faceless crowd.

He sits here on this bench with Draco as if he’s an old friend, someone who has always known the way to his house, and just decided to stop by for a comforting, warm meal.

They are sitting there, enjoying the silence and the mutual peace with each other. Two worlds, yet again, meeting at the crossroad. Draco thinks, if everyone had been like this, there wouldn’t have been wars.

Just two people having a conversation.

Draco, after a while, goes into the house and then comes back with couple of books in his hands. Robards choses the one Draco has read out loud to him weeks ago. As Robards begins to read, Draco choses a book for himself as well, and starts reading it.

‘ _There are just some kind of men who– who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one, and you can look down the street and see the results.’_

Draco then asks Robards, “Where you at with the book?”

Robards voice is quiet as he begins to read, “ _Everything, even herself, was now unbearable to her. She wished that, taking wing like a bird, she could fly somewhere, far away to regions of purity, and there grow young again._ ”

Draco smiles a little, and now it’s three in the morning again.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the characters look like continuation:
> 
> – Daphne:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/55/03/d7/5503d7d89f4ae158ca96df69e1d5113e.jpg)
> 
> – Marcus:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/70/1d/83/701d831e29d9e18ff0efb31897efa2c2.jpg)
> 
> – Adrian
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/4c/51/bc/4c51bcc4b050d37189391d4fca8c8922.jpg)
> 
> – Terence:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ec/c1/69/ecc1693320db88687c80d6f4b9ae4411.jpg)


	11. Scene XI: Piano Sonata No. 14 in C sharp minor, Op. 27 No. 2 “Moonlight Sonata”: II. Allegretto by Ludwig Van Beethoven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my adorable–evils! Here's the new chapter and I hope ya'll will like it :D

**ACT I**

**Scene XI**

**Piano Sonata No. 14 in C sharp minor, Op. 27 No. 2 “Moonlight Sonata”: II. Allegretto by Ludwig Van Beethoven**

_“It made Draco remember when he was little, running through the corn fields as the wind blew his hair, enjoying the sun’s warmth on his face.”_

_\- Draco Lucius Malfoy_

20th July, 1998

Millicent Bulstrode is fond of a muggle artist, a famous painter, named Vincent Van Gogh and maybe that’s the reason why people have no idea what it really means to know someone. To really know someone, to their very core.

_“What are you doing?” Fifteen year old Draco asked, sitting next to Pansy on the couch in the Slytherin headquarters, looking at Millicent as she was sitting on a chair, in front of a white picture. It looked empty, hollow even. Certainly not something interesting at first glance, and so very far from being something valuable._

_“What is that?” Pansy asked, seemingly intrigued. “Is that–”_

_But then Millicent looked back to them and grinned, saying, “Watch this,” and held an item that seemed similar to a pen, except it had a fluffy end and Draco had a weird urge to graze it with his fingertips, not that he would admit that. She then put the item in one of the colors, into a little jar – yellow, Draco realized, as she pulled the item out of the jar._

_And then moved it to the white picture, making a slow but determined movement with her hand and a yellow streak followed behind her fingertips, filling out the white and making it bloom._

_Draco forgot how to talk._

_After a while Millicent chose another color, blue, and made another stroke. It made Draco remember when he was little, running through the corn fields as the wind blew his hair, enjoying the sun’s warmth on his face_

_His chest was full, his throat closed off as he breathed again slowly like the petals of flowers, flying through the sky in spring._

_“What is this?” Draco asked in a soft tone, and noticed Pansy was reaching towards the picture, the blue and yellow colors. It smudged and left the remains on her skin, on the tip of her fingertips._

_Millicent looked back to Draco, giving out the same gentle smile. “It’s called painting.”_

“Draco, I love all of them,” Millicent hugs the present Draco has brought her, brings it close to her chest. “I love how you chose pastel colors! You’ve got a certain rose color I’ve been dying to find for years! Thank you so much, you’re the best.”

Draco smiles, it touches his eyes and then gets up from the chair, going to the medical bed where she’s currently lying on. Draco points at the dark wooden box. “These are quality paints, there’s a few hand made brushes in there as well. I’ve got them from a specialist, so to say,” he winks.

Millicent gives a noise of excitement and then grabs Draco’s hand, pressing a kiss on the back of it. “You’ve always been my favorite, darling.” Millicent giggles as she goes back to open the wooden box, completely in awe as she starts to look at each of the colors, carefully examining every single one of them.

Draco grins. “Oh really?” His smile turns smug. “Greg would be disappointed then.”

It is unquestionably interesting to see the flush creeping up Millicent’s face whenever Draco mentions Greg.

“Draco, hush,” Millicent says, undoubtedly avoiding the elephant in the room. “Look at this!” She shoves a tube of pastel blue into Draco’s face. “This is so pretty, might be the prettiest thing I have seen so far in my whole life. I can’t wait to be able to paint again.”

Draco sighs and then starts pulling out the nightstand’s drawers, curious what he might find. “You may be the only one who will love the whole house arrest thing. You’ll just paint all day,” Draco shrugs ad moves to the other nightstand, continuing his search. “You’re going to drive your assigned Auror to insanity.”

“Where is the lie in that, though? You’re absolutely right.” Millicent chuckles and then asks, “Who is your friend standing there in the corner anyway?”

Draco looks to the corner, finding that Robards is sitting on an armchair, shamelessly reading the book he has stolen from Draco’s library.

Draco furrows his brows because of the surprising scenery. “That is Mother’s assigned house arrest Auror. Gawain Robards,” Robards looks up hearing his name and nods at Millicent, then continues reading his book. “He’s decided to come with me when I told him I wanted to visit you at St. Mungo’s.”

Millicent sends Robards a hesitant smile and then looks back to Draco. “Shouldn’t he be with your mom then?”

Draco shrugs, looking at a little, deep red notebook he finds in the middle drawer. “At this point,” he points at Robards who is still reading in the corner, completely unaware of everything that is happening around him. “He’s more similar to a pet than an Auror, if I ought to be honest.”

“I heard that,” Robards says without any steel in his voice and flips a page with a loud movement. Millicent blinks at him, and the blinks more, having no idea how to react or what to say.

Draco shows the red notebook to her. “Is this yours?” He asks but she shakes her head.

“Not mine at all,” she says. “I wonder who left it here.”

Draco has a contemplative look in his eyes as he puts the notebook back, and shuts the middle drawer. His fingers rest on the handle, it’s cold beneath his skin. Draco lets its stay there for minutes.

“Draco?” Millicent asks, her voice is questioning, a little bit worried.

Draco lets go of the handle, then turns to her and sits down on the bed, reaching out to hold her hand. Millicent smiles and strokes the back of Draco’s hand with her thumb.

“I heard you’ve gotten into a fight with Daphne about Adrian the other day,” she raises an eyebrow but her smile stays. “A certain bird told me they hadn’t stood a chance against you. Which is not a surprise, really.”

Draco narrows his eyes at her. “Theo wrote to you, didn’t he?”

Millicent just laughs, basically admitting Draco has been right. “You two act like children,” she shakes her head. “It’s Adrian’s fault he can’t accept how much you have done for us during the war. Let that be his burden and not yours. There is no use for holding grudges.”

Draco sighs, his shoulders falling down. “I don’t care about that and you know it, too,” he looks away and he sees blood on the floor. It’s dripping down from the tips of his fingertips, in his other hand.

He know it’s not there. He knows it’s all inside of his head.

But he sees it anyway.

The truth is that Draco knows why Adrian won’t forgive him. He himself wouldn’t forgive someone who has killed so many people in order for others to survive.

In order for Adrian to survive, as well.

Draco tortured, burned, beat, skinned, broke, beheaded, cursed, poisoned, malnourished, and killed to make sure others didn’t need to.

And Adrian won’t ever forgive that.

And Draco won’t forgive him for that either.

“Without you,” Millicent speaks and her voice is made of light, “I would have never survived.” Draco looks at her. “I wouldn’t have been here at St. Mungo’s,” the meaning of her words are etched onto her as she says, “I would have been beneath a remain of a building, desperately attempting to get out, without no avail.”

Draco feels her grip tighten and he smiles a little. Millicent then lets him go and goes through her present yet again, admiring the pastel paints, holding an orange colored tube. Draco finds himself holding one or two as well, admiring the beauty of them.

“Theo also told me something rather intriguing,” Millicent begins, looking back to Draco. “Did Potter really speak for your mother’s behalf on her trial? Making her punishment less?”

Draco stays silent for a long time, but then eventually nods. “He did,” he says. “I was as surprised as everybody else. Ask Tracey, she was there with me. Saw the whole thing.”

“She visited me, but that was before her and your mom’s trial,” she continues, “I know she’ll write soon to me, though. I ask her then what she has thought of it,” she stays silent for a couple of minutes but then she tilts her head in an inquiring manner. “Why did he do that?”

Draco looks down again, fiddling with the duvet on Millicent’s bed. “Mother saved him in the forest. She lied in order to save him.” Draco blinks slowly. “Apparently Potter knows how meaningful that is. Turns out he has a heart, after all.”

“Yet, he didn’t speak for the rest of us. We saved a lot as well but no one knows that.” Millicent says in an airy voice. “But yet again, why would he do anything for us?” She goes silent for a while, looking confused. “He still should have spoke for yours,” Millicent looks at him. “He had your wand. He still has.”

Draco stares at her. “I’m not using magic at the moment. He can have it for all I care,” but as he says this, his chest clenches and he has to remind himself to breathe.

Millicent lays her hand on Draco’s shoulder, giving him strength. “Don’t you want to ask him to give it back?”

Draco gently shakes his head. “I don’t need it right now.”

Millicent sighs and then shrugs. “Maybe he’ll give it to you some day. Who knows. The whole world is getting crazy nowadays.”

Draco smiles a little. “The world has always been crazy, Millie.”

Millicent laughs and then continues to look around in the wooden box, now examining the brushes and Draco stops fiddling with the duvet, leans forward and puts both of his elbows on his knees, leaning his jaw on the palm ofhis right hand. He tries to find the hate that is rooted within, deep inside, towards Potter, but as he’s searching for it, Draco realizes that it’s gone.

His eyes widen.

It’s gone.

It feels distant, an absence in Draco as if he has forgotten a memory which has never been his. He blinks, and he takes a deep breath because it’s gone. It’s as if it's never been there.

Hate has always been a part of him and now it’s not there.

And Draco has let it go. He hasn’t even noticed when he let it go. Without saying goodbye, without realizing it might never come back to him. Everything he has been, everything he is–

It’s just gone.

It’s gone like the sunflower petals flying in the wind, like a torn page from his book falling into an invisible sea, like this minute on the clock after a little bit of time, like the golden corn field behind and old farm, when it gets cold.

It’s gone.

Like the childhood he will never live again.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

“You’ve been awfully quiet all day,” Robards says once they’re at home. They’re sitting outside of terrace, drinking tea.

Robards puts down his cup of tea on the table and waits for Draco to speak.

So he does.

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He tries to find his words, but it’s as if he has never known how to talk. But then it turns out he won’t have to.

Because Robards does.

“Why don’t you say it out loud?” Robards ponders leaning back on his chair. “Your side did exactly what mine did, Draco,” Robards says, taking a deep breath and Draco can’t believe what he’s hearing right at this very moment. “All of you killed, tortured, and escaped like many of my men did,” he looks at Draco. “But you also saved your own, protected what you thought was right. As we did.”

Draco can’t look away.

And then Robards starts talking with force, leaning forward, and Draco has never seen him being so passionate about anything. “Even though it was morally unethical, even though it was wrong, even though I will never understand it, you people did the same things we did and–and,” Robards buries his face into his hands. “It’s wrong to object people to their wrong doings, and hold it against them until they feel like worms in a world where no one should feel like that. No one who forgave, no one who felt guilt or wanted to give up,” Robards sighs, still hiding. “Draco why did you do this?” He looks back at him with, his eyebrows rise. “Why did all of you do this? Do you really believe in blood supremacy?” Robards narrows his eyes. “Because I don’t think you do, so then why? Why?”

Draco grips onto the side of the table, his eyes are wide as he says, “You don’t really understand–”

“Then make me understand!” Robards says through his teeth but he’s not angry, more like desperate. “Because, maybe then, I can help! I can help you and Lady Malfoy–”

And Draco slams his fist on the table, baring his teeth, “You would never be able to drag down a war hero,” his voice is cutting, cold, “then why do you think you could glorify a killer?”

Robards looks perplexed, and the silence is unbearable as realization dawns on his face. “A killer?” He echoes. “But that’s every single one of us. No matter the side.”

Draco sends him a vicious smile. “But it doesn’t matter, because you kill killers,” he leans closer to Robards, his eyes are haunting. “And I kill protectors.”

Terror overtakes Robards’s face. “But it’s not like that,” he whispers. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Oh, but it is,” Draco says, clenching his fists. “To everyone else, it is,” he leans back. “And no one is able to change anybody’s opinion. About anything at all.”

“So what?” Robards says, his voice is rising. “You’re going to take it and bear with it? How people see you? How people act towards you?”

Draco lowers his eyebrows. “Why, Robards?” He says in a calm tone. “You’re going to take it and bear with it? The way people smile the moment they see you? Because you saved them?” He juts his chin. “Or are you going to let them realize you’ve killed, too?”

And Robards is bewildered, his jaw falls down and he doesn’t even seem to breathe for a moment.

“See?” Draco asks, the steel in his voice is still there. “There are things that has to go both ways, otherwise it won’t work,” he looks away. “It will never work.”

But Robards’s voice rings, clear as a bell. “But maybe one day it will.”

And Draco looks back to him as the Auror says, “Maybe one day everyone will only take us as we are. Not by what we’ve done or not done. Just what we are.”

As we are, Draco thinks.

He imagines himself walking on a field with people sitting on the valley of sunflowers. Draco feels the sun kiss his skin, and the rays of gold touch his hands as he brushes them through petals of yellow. The people surrounding him never laugh, they don’t look at him with disdain or hatred, admiration or guilt.

They’re looking at him as if they don’t know who he is.

To them

Draco is invisible.

And a minute passes.

He tries to find his words, but it’s as if he has never known how to talk. But then it turns out Draco won’t have to say anything.

Robards says it out loud for him, staring at him. “It isn’t bad to believe in things. Not even after the end of the day.”

But Draco isn’t sure.

He’s not a kid, but he’s not an adult either. Everything he has been, is not there anymore. It’s a blank page before the last page of the book.

So he asks, “It isn’t?”

It might be three in the morning.

And Robards echoes it with a little smile. 

“It isn’t.”

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the characters look like continuation:
> 
> – Millicent:
> 
> Click [here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/37/18/f9/3718f96261f5a110edbb857e0113e363.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> E N D N O T E S:
> 
> Draco's scars are actually cannon and here's the part from the book word by word: 
> 
> "The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face." - Harry took their wands and Narcissa didn't have a chance to heal Draco's face.
> 
> The progress of writing this story can be followed on Twitter under the hashtag of: LFDdDLM - you can find the link to my twitter here on ao3 under my profile!
> 
> I should have waited more time before I post this but I couldn't wait. I just hope we will cry about this and love this together.
> 
> T R A N S L A T I O N:
> 
> Le Fabuleux Destin de Draco Lucius Malfoy - The Fabulous Fate of Draco Lucius Malfoy
> 
> Je cherche quelque chose mais je ne sais pas ce que c’est - I'm looking for something but I don't know what it is
> 
> Mon trésor - My treasure


End file.
